Chapter 31

The staircase led them to a hatch that opened to a wholly unmemorable alleyway, a place where no one would consider prying up the cobblestones to find what waited underneath. When they resurfaced, the ground shook beneath Margot’s feet as if the guardians’ pounding footsteps were chasing them.

Van closed the hatch behind them. “What is that?”

The ground continued to rumble, rattling through Margot’s joints. They were a block or so from the grassy knoll, and the guardians . . . the guardians had all been buried, no magic left in their rubble bones.

Then, a stampede of cross traffic rushed down the main road toward the temple.

“Where is everyone going?” Margot asked a passing woman with a number-two pencil holding up her French twist.

The woman smiled. “You haven’t heard? Someone found the Vase of Venus Aurelia!”

Margot grabbed Van’s hand, and they joined the stream of white-sneakered tourists and archaeologists in loose linens and khaki cargo pants. Ahead, the far half of the lawn had caved in. The sunken temple was barely visible, a few marble columns protruding from the earth in bone-white shards. A crowd had gathered on the hilltop: TV crews, bespectacled journalists, photographers with cameras flashing. Overhead, a helicopter buzzed, and if Margot squinted she could see an eagle-eyed airborne reporter, peering down at the city.

Everyone wanted a peek at the treasure.

Wading through elbows and shoulders, Margot and Van tightened their grip on each other’s hands. Who knew a mythological treasure trove resulted in so much press coverage?

Of course, Astrid stood at the epicenter, red-faced and sniveling. But she was intact, barring a few purpling bruises and patchy scrapes. A shock blanket had been wrapped around her shoulders, and she clutched it at the nape as she spoke to a huddle of other Radcliffe students, saying who knew what.

Next to her, Enzo chatted with a reporter, a wired microphone tilted beneath his jaw. He wasn’t the only one being interviewed. There must have been four or five different news sources present. All hoping to break the news of the person who discovered Pompeii’s oldest mystery.

“There they are!” Suki shouted, jumping and pointing.

Dr. Hunt rushed forward. She planted protective hands on both of their shoulders. “Margot, Chad, is it true? You found the Vase?”

Margot’s smile beamed, bright as a flashbulb. “It’s true.”

Suddenly, about six different men in stuffy-looking blazers appeared out of thin air with voice recorders at the ready. A barrage of questions hit them with tropical-force winds. What were their names, how did they find it, where is it located, what kind of treasure is it?

Van shuffled forward, stuffing a hand in his pocket. She heard him say, “Chad’s just a nickname. I usually go by Van. Van Keane.”

Dr. Hunt hovered next to him as they fielded questions, but Margot sank backward. She let the tides of people flow around her. A sea of faces looked back. Proud, gleaming eyes watched them, admired them.

She expected a swell of emotion, the sunny glow of achievement. After all, she’d found the Vase of Venus Aurelia, discovered its treasure, and suddenly she had the adoration of the world. So, why did it feel like she was missing something?

Her phone dinged in her pocket. She yanked it out, tapping to the notification. A text from her dad.

Is this international data plan working? Look left

Look left? What, did his text send before he was ready? Like it was supposed to say, Looks like you left your phone on silent and missed the new boarding pass I forwarded you.

Then, she spotted a familiar face in the fray.

“Dad?” Margot called, voice tinged with disbelief.

Rupert Rhodes belonged beneath the Main Street magnolia trees, taking calls in his AirPods with one hand holding a briefcase full of mortgage paperwork and the other a triple-shot latte. Not in the middle of the ancient ruins wearing a wrinkled, salmon-colored polo shirt, clearly fresh off a flight.

Margot was vaguely aware of Van explaining how they’d solved the trials to reporters from the freaking BBC and AP News, but her dad was here. Here. Her brain couldn’t hardly believe it until his arms wrapped around her, tugging her into the tightest hug she’d ever endured.

He said, “Oh, thank god. You’re okay.”

Every muscle in Margot’s body clenched. Wasn’t she supposed to be grounded for the rest of her life? She forced out the question: “What are you doing here?”

Her dad held her at arm’s length, scanning her head to toe for bumps and bruises, and, let’s be honest, her body felt like it had been squeezed through a pasta maker in the last week, so she wasn’t sure what he’d see. She expected the pinched frown he always wore when she jumped headfirst into something and ended up crash-landing, but instead his face smoothed with relief.

“You skipped your flight. You stopped answering my calls. I thought you might have fallen into the Mediterranean or something,” he said.

Still stunned, Margot shook her head like it might rattle things into place. “Did Dr. Hunt talk to you?”

“Only once I landed,” he said. “After our last conversation, I did buy a plane ticket—for me, not for you. I thought I was going to have to pick you up and bring you home myself. But, somewhere over the Atlantic, I started thinking. I know we haven’t seen eye to eye this past week.”

“So, I’m not in trouble?” Margot asked, rolling onto the balls of her feet and innocently batting her lashes.

“Oh no. You’re going to spend the rest of the summer with an eight p.m. curfew, so don’t think I’m letting you off the hook.” Well, it was worth a shot. “But I love you. Always have, always will.”

Something in Margot’s chest cracked wide open. She choked out, “But you said I’m just like Mom, and she wasn’t good enough.”

“I love your mom,” he said tenderly, a sound like honey straight from the comb. “Still would if she were around to let me. But that’s the thing, Gogo. Sometimes loving someone best means letting them go and . . .”

His voice chipped at the end like ice in a glass of lemonade on a sweltering day, a nostalgic sound from the summers before her mom left. Before Margot lost days, weeks, months constantly trying to win his attention and approval.

“I only came here without telling you because I knew you’d be too busy with work to actually listen, and you’d say no, and we’d end up in a big fight,” Margot said, her bottom lip quivering.

Her dad brushed her wild curls away from her face, gentle and caring. “You’re right. I haven’t always been there for you the way I needed to be. I held on too tightly when I should have let you spread your wings.” He laughed, then, a wet sound like he might tear up, too. “I just knew one day you’d grow up to be this brilliant, adventurous young woman, and I was going to lose you, too.”

“Daaaad,” Margot said. She swiped at the tears leaking out the sides of her eyes, totally about to smear her mascara. “I thought I was losing you because . . . Sometimes I feel like I have to stop being me to make you happy.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I want you to do what makes you happy. Not what you think will make other people happy.”

Well, she’d followed her heart, and it led her here.

And here was . . . not exactly like she’d imagined it. Somehow, it was better.

Across the meadow, Margot found Van, still engaged in a conversation with eager reporters (and Suki, who had taken it upon herself to produce a notepad and a novelty pen and was now certainly asking the hardest-hitting questions). His chin rose like he felt her eyes on him, and when his gaze met hers, she winked.

“Margot! Come with me. Let me get a photo of you and Van!” a journalist with a hefty DSLR strapped around his chest said.

She let herself be corralled through the crowd until Van was back at her side, his arm fitting comfortably around her waist. The journalist pressed the camera’s viewfinder to his eye and swiveled the lens, shifting them into focus.

“How does it feel? Finding the treasure of Venus?” the journalist asked.

“I’m never letting go,” Van said.

Margot leaned in closer, a sappy smile spreading wide, but Van tilted her chin up toward him. As the camera flashed, he kissed her, like they were the only two people in the world. The kind of kiss that would rival Isla and Reed’s. Windswept and sunlit and lipstick stained.